


Where the Shadows Have Names

by Psuedo_sweetheart



Category: Errant Kingdom (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psuedo_sweetheart/pseuds/Psuedo_sweetheart
Summary: She expected to be asked for a name, so she’d chosen one long before she arrived in Novus, but Sparrow didn’t expect to be saddled with a partner upon joining the assassin’s guild.  While she doesn’t dislike Raiden, trusting him is another matter entirely.
Relationships: Main Character/Raiden (Errant Kingdom)
Kudos: 8





	Where the Shadows Have Names

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: While I do have a little more written for this, I don't know if I'll be adding to it or not. I was mostly just having fun writing an alternate beginning where my spy was a bit more spy-like.

While he certainly did intend to ‘check out’ the new recruit, Raiden had done far more staring than checking; at least, at first. As someone who gets laid fairly regularly by a demon, he isn’t easy to impress in the looks department, and that isn’t even touching on his own damn face, but this one… he senses there’s something more there, maybe even that something he values so far beyond looks he never, ever, talks about it. 

Raiden can immediately see why she’s a good spy. She blends in with the every day crowd so well he had difficulty finding her in the first place, for one thing. She’s meandering along, eyes roving over hair ornaments, fabrics, and knick knacks, looking just as absorbed as anyone who has extra coin to spend. 

It’s only the dagger tucked into the back of her waistband, disguised by the loose, comfortable shirt she’s wearing, that made him look twice; on the second glance recognizing the face described in the information sparse report the guild had scrambled to put together before she arrived. 

Upon closer inspection, her face has the soft roundness of someone who’s never missed a meal, whether that’s true or not. Warm, brown hair frames her face in curls and Raiden’s fingers twitch, wondering if they’re the sort of curls that bounce back in a satisfying flourish when pulled tight. A pair of pinked lips that look made for kissing, and all he can think is that she looks _sweet_. 

But then again, he’d bet a good chunk of coin she can look about any way she wants. 

Raiden’s mind immediately flashes to all the professions spies tend to be inclined to, picturing the person in front of him in the costumes. Spies likes occupations that can get them close to important people. Traveling occupations like bard, dancer, prostitute, mercenary, or scholar. Otherwise they can be just about anything; anyone can become a spy after the fact.

But _this_ spy isn’t like that. She can’t be pinned down by a single occupation. Her talents and skills are wide ranging and varied, although the report was sparse on the details. The list of names she’s gone by was impressive all on its own, and it isn’t even complete. 

To say he’s interested is an understatement. However, to say he’s wary, is also an understatement. A double edged weapon cuts both ways after all.

It’s a warm, sunny, day, and she’s dressed for the weather, which makes formally checking for weapons easy peasy. There’s an obvious knife on the sheathe on her belt. The sort of thing anyone would carry around. He notices another one in her left boot as she walks through the busy marketplace, arms swinging lazily at her sides as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

A pushy vendor, holds up an embroidered hair ribbon against her hair, exclaiming over how lovely it looks. Her smile is instant, and Raiden can’t see even a hint of irritation or anything but friendly regard. She takes it from him, obviously admiring it, before putting it down and picking up a black, velvet, ribbon, edged in silver thread. 

The shopkeep is briefly put out. Even with the silver, it’s a cheaper choice, but a single smile from her pretty face, has him rhapsodizing again, and Raiden rolls his eyes as the words, ‘classic,’ ‘dramatic,’ and ‘understated,’ filter up to his hiding place. 

If she has any other deadly apparatuses, or perhaps poisons, they’re small and concealed well enough that Raiden can’t pick them out from afar, so he slips from his hiding place and into the crowds. 

It’s easy enough to catch her attention. There’s an edge of awareness to her the second she senses him, her gaze unerringly snapping to him, as her hand casually goes to her hip, close to where a dagger waits for her grasp.

“So, you finally found me,” she says, a teasing smile curling the corners of her mouth.

“What do you mean finally? How do you know I haven’t been watching for the past hour?” he grins back, admiring how unruffled she remains despite the inherent danger in dealing with a guild of assassins. 

She rolls her eyes, “Try fifteen minutes and I’ll believe you.”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. She’s good. 

Raiden steps closer, pretending to examine the collection of housewares she’s standing by.

“The Pauper’s Crown, twenty minutes from now.”

“Hm, your people don’t give a girl much time to work.”

“You _are_ , the Shadow’s Breath, aren’t you,” he winks, “I’m sure you can manage.”

“Among other things,” she smirks. “I won’t disappoint.”

Raiden claps his hands, eyes gleaming, “Goodie! See you soon.”

With that he slips away.

Although… not far.

***

I step into the tavern, tucking my cloak around myself before rubbing my sweaty palms on my trousers. It’s fuller than I expected for the time of day, and I hunch my shoulders, adjusting the brim of my hat to try and ward off the stares. I glance around, pushing my glasses back into place after catching sight of the assassins I’m supposed to meet. They’re tucked into a dark corner of course, and I swallow thickly, smoothing down the front of my cloak as I shuffle toward them. 

“Ah, yes, hello.” 

I bob my head at the stone-faced woman sitting at the booth, with a nervous glance at her grinning, white haired companion.

The woman’s brow furrows as she gives me a hard stare, obviously baffled as to why I’ve addressed her. 

There’s a tense, loaded, silence. The other assassin keeps giving me strange looks, but I avoid catching his eye. No doubt he’s a trouble maker, and I certainly need no more trouble than I already have. 

“Yes?” the woman finally responds.

A relieved sigh bursts from my lips, and I only just hold back a nervous huff of laughter as I force myself to hold her gaze. Finally, this problem will be solved, and my life will be perfect. My hands seem to grasp each other of their own accord, wringing together.

“Ah, I’m here to, uh, arrange a…”

I trail off, my eyebrows lifted high as I look at her expectantly. Surely she isn’t going to make me spell it out in the middle of the tavern!

Her brows furrow even deeper, till they meet in a harsh ‘v’ in the middle of her forehead.

“I don’t know where you got your info from, pal, but I don’t handle that stuff. Now buzz off.”

Her companion is nearly vibrating out of his seat as he unsuccessfully tries to hold back his glee, snickers already slipping past his teeth. 

“I- but, I’m-”

With a flourish, I straighten from my hunched posture, tilting back the brim of my hat with a wink.

“But I heard you were looking for me,” I say, a smirk tilting the side of my mouth, as I lean casually against the table.

The woman’s eyes go gratifyingly wide for a moment, before her brows slam back down into a magnificent scowl, the man beside her breaking out into loud peals of laughter, probably drawing the eyes of the entire tavern, though I don’t look.

“That was _beautiful_ ,” he tells me as I slide into the seat opposite them. My hands grab for the ale, even though I have no intention of drinking anything I didn’t see poured. I adjust my hat again so it’s tilted at a rakish angle that also hides my face from most the tavern, although they likely won’t recognize me later regardless. I’m an artist, after all. Did I fool _you_? I hope so. 

“You could have warned me.”

Despite how she looks ‘all business,’ the woman is almost pouting, still glancing at me from the corner of her eyes.

“And ruin the fun? I don’t think so. You should have seen her, Layla, it was like watching a transformation, the way she waltzed through the marketplace like she owned the place. By the time she reached the door of the tavern, she was a completely different person.”

“I can be whatever you like,” I waggle my eyebrows at the both of them.

“Ugh, you’re just like him.”

“Hardly,” I scoff lightly. 

I pause, tilting my head, as examine the ‘he’ in question, “Although, perhaps you are correct. Just because I’ve never met an assassin who could match me for vivacity, much less style, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

I wink at said assassin, inspiring a groan I ignore, from the other.

He puts his elbows on the table and cups his face in his hands, fluttering his eyelashes at me with a sappy smile.

“Ah, Layla, I think my heart has already been captured,” he gushes.

“What’s your name, handsome?” I ask, leaning forward far enough to see the color of his eyes; an endlessly deep, dark brown, undoubtedly full of secrets.

“Raiden, but you can call me handsome if you want,” he winks.

“Can we _please_ , get to business now?”

Layla’s voice cuts across our conversation, her tone indicating she’s not actually asking. 

Subtly, she glances around the tavern, then makes herself more comfortable in her seat, like we’re all old buddies, just out for a friendly drink. At stupid o’clock in the morning… Oh well, you can’t have everything work out; that’s just greedy.

“There was an assassination attempt last night at the castle,” Layla states with all the nonchalance as if she were discussing the weather, “Someone tried to off the king and queen at the same time.”

My eyebrows raise reflexively, “How shocking,” I state just as blandly. My brows furrow and I continue, “They’ve managed to hush it up surprisingly well. That, or Novians are tighter lipped than expected when unfamiliar faces are about.”

“Perhaps a bit of both,” Layla smirks.

“It seems you don’t know who it was. Was there any sort of description?”

“Just the typical,” Raiden scoffs, taking a slurping gulp of his ale, “Quick, shadowy, silent. Because that really narrows it down in this town.”

He leans forward, his ale still grasped in his hand, “Although, I’m a little offended your first suspect wasn’t me. I know you haven’t really seen me in action yet, but you know I’m quick, shadowy, and silent.”

His pout is exaggerated, just like everything else about him.

I roll my eyes, “If a guild master was inclined to send another to do such a risky and ambitious task, I can’t imagine them taking the risk of letting the failure walk around afterward. So, either it’s a foreign player, or a dead one; not you.” 

Raiden sighs, leaning back in his seat, “You’re right, but there’s also the fact that I don’t _miss_.”

“Of course not,” I reply stoutly, “I would never make such an insulting presumption of a fellow artist.”

“I really like you,” Raiden sighs, propping his chin on his hand. 

Surprisingly, Layla joins in, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “Consider yourself marked for death.”

They start bickering, but I only half listen as I go over the information they’ve given me.

The only foreign player powerful enough to play this game, as well as with a motive, would be my home country, Vih’thris. Great. This is the sort of stuff that gets spies killed. Well, lots of people killed, Orentis is on the cusp of revolution after all. 

I’ve never been a part of anything this big before, and I’m seized by a sudden sense of dread. This isn’t the sort of thing I would normally seek out, I’m happy in the shadows, and when entire countries go up in flames, things tend to be drug out into the light.

“I hope this means there’s plenty of work to go around,” I rejoin the conversation with a grin.

Two grins, both wicked enough to match my own.

“There’ll be hefty contracts coming out our arses. And we’re going to sit back and bask in the disorder.”

“And coin,” Layla adds, “You weren’t given that letter for nothing you know. They want you.”

She leans in, watching me with an intent gaze, “You in?”

“I’m in,” I state simply, not even needing to pause. I’ve already done my homework and this opportunity is exactly what I need. 

The real deal comes next, as I lift my tankard. Two pints clank against mine. I drink.

I don’t die.

“Ah, nothing like not being stabbed in the back via, poison, right, guild-buddy?” Raiden winks at me.

I roll my eyes, but can’t quite bite back my smile in time.

“Quite. Poison is an indecent end. It’s either terribly boring, or terribly messy and disgusting. Not a fitting death for such as ourselves.”

I shift in my seat, putting my tankard back down on the table.

“In the interest of further collaboration, blending in is what I do best, so if I’m dressed to fit in with men, then I use ‘he,’ pronouns, and the same goes with, ‘she.’ And if you can’t tell, it’s just as on purpose, so ‘they,’ works. Or confusion, confusion is fun,” I laugh.

“And when you aren’t in disguise?” the white hair assassin asks.

Not in disguise? I have to pause a moment to wrap my mind around the idea. I haven’t been out of disguise since I earned my first nick name and did everything I could to live up to it. I just kept going from there, letting the names others gave me define who I was, till I became skilled enough to create my own personas. 

Currently, I’m Kelvin, a nervous man of low standing who thinks highly of himself, despite being a mediocre scholar who can barely make ends meet. Although part of why he can barely make ends meet, is because he’s obsessed with ridding himself of his longstanding rival (who I choose from whatever respected scholars the city holds.) This rival of course doesn’t even know of my- _Kelvin’s_ existence, much less our virulent animosity. 

The name changes with the city, as do certain details, but Kelvin as a shamelessly deluded person, obsessed with things beyond their purview, is a valued member of my arsenal, often used to sneak a peek at the world (temporarily) beyond my reach. But, I suppose working within a guild is going to require a bit of different touch. If I join the Hand of the Serpent, Novus will be my home base; where I shed my skin, so to speak, and report in to the guild master. Kelvin has already been retired thanks to this venture anyway. Bye, Kelvin.

“I suppose ‘she’ shall suffice,” I say casually, even though my instincts are screeching like a siren in my brain at sharing even the slightest bit of personal information. 

“Good luck getting a disguise past this one,” Layla shakes her fist with her thumb pointed at Raiden.

“I’ll do my best,” I bare my teeth in a grin at Raiden, who is looking far more smug than he should as far as I’m concerned.

Layla breaks our stare off as she shoves her way past him out of the booth.

“Places to go, people to see,” she ruffles Raiden’s hair before shoving his head away, “Don’t get our new snake killed too fast, little snake.”

With that she’s gone.

Raiden turns to me, “Don’t ever call me little snake, or I’ll stab you in the eye, okay?”

“The downside to working where you grew up,” I surmise, smirking over the top of my tankard.

His eyes narrow, “You _are_ a perceptive one.”

I shrug expansively, “Duh.”

“Alright, alright.”

He guzzles the last of his ale, slamming the empty cup to the table.

“So, if we’re going to be working together, I guess I’d better know your name?”

“What, The Hand of the Snake couldn’t track down my true name?” I ask, with obviously false surprise.

He rolls his eyes, “They tracked down a dozen of them in what little time they had. I can just use your last known alias like they did for the letter if you don’t want to share.”

I don’t actually know what counts for a ‘real’ name among the fae. Is it the name the people responsible for bringing you into the world chose? What if you don’t know it? What if you don’t know, you don’t know it? What if someone else named you? What if you reject the name, or names, you were given and choose another? Which counts?

I don’t know the answer for certain, but I would suppose it’s the name you don’t want the fae to steal; as much as I’d like to say I have no such name, I do. The only person I’ve ever told it to is dead, and I’m not about to entrust it to anyone again, any time soon. 

“It’s Sparrow,” I say, taking another sip of my ale. 

For now, anyway.

Raiden sticks his elbow on the table, and offers me his hand. It almost looks like he means to arm wrestle me, and my lips quirk in a small smile as I clasp it, and we shake.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sparrow.”

He lets my name roll off his tongue like he’s tasting it; feeling it out. A small thrill of caution rings in the back of my head, but I stay at ease, letting him break the handshake. 

There’s no sign of doubt on Raiden’s face, not that I’ve given him any reason to doubt other than just the inherent suspicion in dealing with a spy. He bids me to stay in town, with a cryptic message about getting back to me soon before slipping away.


End file.
